


Six Days of Fowlmas

by Svart_Jade



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svart_Jade/pseuds/Svart_Jade
Summary: 14th december 1918 - 5:47am"O'Connor. What the fuck is that?""I believe it's a pear tree, sir."Geoffrey stared at the very sad looking potted plant, it's branches barely clinging to the last few brave leaves still resisting the fierce bite of winter. “And why the fuck is there a pear tree in our courtyard?”His second in command, resident expert in all things green and growing, slowly shrugged one giant shoulder as he took a long sip from his mug of tea. “I’m not sure, sir. They hibernate when it snows.”
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Six Days of Fowlmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueEyedArcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/gifts).



> My offering for Pembroke Hospital Discord Holiday Exchange. Merry Christmas ya filthy animals.

_ 14th december 1918 - 5:47am _

"O'Connor. What the fuck is that?"

"I believe it's a pear tree, sir." 

Geoffrey stared at the very sad looking potted plant, it's branches barely clinging to the last few brave leaves still resisting the fierce bite of winter. “And why the fuck is there a  _ pear tree _ in our courtyard?”

His second in command, resident expert in all things green and growing, slowly shrugged one giant shoulder as he took a long sip from his mug of tea. “I’m not sure, sir. They hibernate when it snows.”

“I wish I could hibernate when it snows.”

Geoffrey didn’t need to turn around to hear the smack that follows, rubbing his face with a muffled groan as Babic and Bonner began to bicker in the background. "You two, knock it off n' go see if ya can find anything!"

Bonner snapped a lazy “Yes Sir!” as he ambled out into the yard, whistling to himself as Babic prowled away towards the gate. The pair had the sharpest eyes even if their maturity left something to be desired. If there were any clues left to be found, Priwen would sniff it out. Though normally clues didn’t come in the form of a brown paper parcel. 

Bonner crowed in delight as he lifted it from between the branches of the pear tree, brushing off the snow to peer at the wrapping. “Hey boss, it’s for you!”

Gaping as Bonner bounded back towards him, Geoffrey snatched the parcel from him, staring at the neat  _ G. McCullum  _ scrawled on the paper. Flipping open his penknife to cut the twine binding the parcel shut, Geoffrey braced himself for the threats and gore he expected as the leader of the Guards of Priwen. Instead of body parts or poisoned notes lay… a tiny skinless chicken. “What the actual fuck.”

Tilting the parcel to allow Bonner and Babic to see as they peered over his shoulder, Geoffrey watched as Babic squinted at the bird, letting the man lift it slightly before huffing. “Jarebica. Ve hunt them in Serbia.” His brow creased as he tapped the paper, jaw working in frustration. “I don’t know English name.”

Perking up at the slightest hint of food, Bonner crowded in even closer, squinting at the bird like it might suddenly roast itself with potatoes and gravy. “Can you eat them?”    
  
Babic shrugged, folding the paper back over. “Da. Taste good pan fried with garlic and pumpkin.”   
  
Deciding that it was too early to be dealing with this shite, Geoffrey shoved the bird into Babic’s hands and turned to shoulder his way past O’Connor. “Merry Christmas, Babic. I’m going back to bed. And wipe that smile off your face O’Connor, this ain’t funny.”    
  
“Of course not, sir. Sleep well.”

Asshole.

_ 15th december 1918 - 7:23pm _

Geoffrey was in what passed for a good mood as he strolled towards the kitchens, burying a smirk as the Guards that had been on watch the night before limped past him with muffled whimpers. He had left them to Babic’s tender mercy for letting someone, that was carrying a tree of all things, slip past them into the heart of the Priwen compound. Last he had heard, the Serbian had been barking at them to run faster and not let the sticks they were holding above their head’s droop. 

Stepping into the kitchen, Geoffrey made a beeline for the pot of coffee keeping warm, nodding to the chaplain resting at the table as he went, only to stumble as he properly glanced at the object in front of him. “Afternoon Bish- are those birds?!”

Bishop nodded, not taking his eyes off the brown doves cooing in their cage, proudly displaying their black-and-white-striped patches on the side of their necks as they nuzzled each other. “Afternoon sir. And yes, someone left them on the front stairs with a note.”   
  
Only briefly distracted from the promise of coffee by the mystery of a pair of doves, Geoffrey poured himself a cup and took a long sip, relishing the burn before orbiting around the room to peer closer at the birds. “What did it say?”   
  
“Your name.”

“What.”

Bishop gestured to the paper tag tied to the handle of the cage, bearing the same  _ G. McCullum  _ that had mocked him the night before. Geoffrey had doubted it had been any of his men but had still spent the early hours of the morning comparing the handwriting to any of the reports that had crossed his desk, with no results. 

Glancing up at Bishop as the Scotsman cleared his throat, Geoffrey cocked an eyebrow to hear what he had to say. “With your permission sir, I’d like to keep them. Build them a proper nest, see if we can train them to carry messages.”

“Would be useful. Speak to O’Connor and get it done. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.”

_ 16th december 1918 -6:31am _

O’Connor had a way with animals. Beside the rat that practically lived on his shoulder, the giant seemed to attract strays whenever he went out on patrol; dogs slinking up to beg for a pet, cats twining around his ankles while purring. So part of Geoffrey wasn’t surprised when he stepped out into the brisk dawn air to find his second sitting on the stone steps, calming tossing pumpkin seeds to a small flock of hens. “They have a sale at the market or something?”   
  
Instead of a reassuring nod, the larger man shook his head, gesturing to the far wall where a half wall kept the snow at bay. “No. I found them in a crate, in the corner of the courtyard out of the wind.”

Dread settled in his gut as he peered through the early morning gloom to where Beamard had pointed. And judging by the vague amusement he could practically feel radiating off the man, Geoffrey didn’t need to ask if this trio of birds also came with his name attached.

Groaning as he slumped back against the wall, Priwen’s fearsome leader considered the pros and cons of just moving back to Ireland and leaving this lot behind. Or taking a well deserved nap and leaving Bonner in charge. “At least this one is practical. Roast chook for dinner?”

And to prove that the universe still enjoyed taking a boot to his arse while he was down, O’Connor shook his head, destroying Geoffrey’s dream of a large roast dinner with potatoes, gravy, butter and warm bread as he stood, trailing the seeds to encourage the hens to follow him. “I’d rather keep them for eggs, supplement the mens’ protein intake and use them for baking.”

Sighing because figures, Geoffrey added live chicken smuggling to the list of offences the spectre had committed against Priwen. Couldn’t they have provided the dead variety like they did with the tiny weird chicken earlier?

_ 17th december 1918 - 1:56pm _

Geoffrey stared at the four fluttering beasts, each chirp driving another nail into the headache building behind his eyes. The evil little demons masquerading as blackbirds stared back, their beady little eyes glaring into his soul. “Don’t suppose we can feed these ones to Babic as well?”

Judging from the noise of horror McKinley made as he clutched the cage closer to his chest, Geoffrey was going to take that as a no. 

_ 18th december 1918 - 4:02pm _

“OY, ENOUGH O'THIS SHITE!” 

Priwen ducked for cover as Geoffrey’s door slammed open, the thunderous Irishman storming out of his bedroom in a rage, his shirt half buttoned and tucked haphazardly into his pants. Ignoring the scrambling recruits, Geoffrey trampled down the hall towards the small library where he knew the command staff of Priwen tended to congregate at this time. 

Already launching into a tirade as he threw the door open, Geoffrey slammed a small velvety bag onto the table around which his inner circle had been relaxing. “I put up with the feckin birds but I'm drawin the line! Some arse came into my room while I was sleeping n'...” Geoffrey trailed off as fuming blue eyes met startled brown. “...Ah, afternoon Miss?”

O’Connor’s lass, a sweet Dutch nurse his second had been seeing for a few months now, smiled rather bemused at him, eyes turned pointedly away from the glimpses of his bare chest. “Good afternoon, Mr. McCullum. You seem to be in a mood.”

Cheeks burning as he hurried to tuck his shirt in, Geoffrey ignored Beamard’s rather pointed look. “Someone’s been leaving me odd gifts and actually came into my bedroom while I was sleeping to leave me another one.”

Bishop raised an eyebrow as he eyed the velvet bag. “I was up all night and didn’t see anyone near your bed and you aren’t exactly the lightest of sleepers with that creaky door of yours. What did they leave you?”

Normally Geoffrey would be pleased at the mention of one of his more ingenious alarms before today had him in a foul mood, practically spitting as he upended the bag to spill jewellry across the desk. “Five  _ golden rings. _ ”   
  
Even as Bishop’s eyebrow raised to join the other and O’Connor grunted in surprise, de Vinke’s face pinched as she gazed at the rings, an odd look in her eyes as she picked one up. “May I ask what the other gifts were?”   
  
Fuck.

Bishop’s face split into a wide grin as he leant forward, more than delighted to inform her that it was “Birds. Lots n’ lots of birds.” With O’Connor not so helpfully chiming in with “and a tree.”   
  
De Vinke hummed, rolling one of the rings around between her fingers before slowly singing, a gentle rhyme that itched at Geoffrey’s memories. “On the twelve days of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.”   
  
Silence. Complete and utter silence. Every single thought between Geoffrey’s ears packed up and boarded a ship out of England, heading for destinations unknown. Until the one thought that had apparently missed the memo declared itself with a rather loud “Are you telling me someone is trying to _ woo _ me?!”   
  


_ 19th december 1918 - 2:47Am _

Wrapping his hands around his flask, Geoffrey desperately wished it was full of whiskey. After Bishop and Beamard had finished laughing at his misery, they had listened to Gertrude lay out the gifts he had already received; five golden rings, four colly birds, three faverolles hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge along with a pear tree. But somehow the worst was still yet to come. Six geese, seven swans, eight milking maids, nine dancing ladies, ten leaping lords, eleven pipers and twelve drummers. The stuff of nightmares. 

So now he was freezing his arse off on the roof of one of the buildings overlooking the courtyard, a flask of still warm soup in hand as he stood watch for his mysterious suitor. He could have handed the task off to one of his men but besides not wanting to have the gossip spread further than it already had, his wooer had already avoided the patrols five times now. No, if he wanted this done, he would have to do it himself.

Shuffling in place to keep the blood moving, sharp blue eyes caught the flicker of movement from the corner of his gaze. Spinning in place, Geoffrey hunted for the motions, too quick to be anything human. Course his admirer would be a leech, a leech in a coat he definitely recognised. 

“Reid!”

The bellow caught the good doctor by surprise, the figure almost stumbling on the rooftop across from him before vanishing in a mist of shadows, appearing not a few feet away from him with a rather… agitated crate in his grasp. “Oh, Mister McCullum. I didn’t expect to find you on the rooftops at this time of night. What can I do for you?”

Eyeing the crate that had actual  _ feathers _ sticking out between the planks of wood, Geoffrey gestured to the box as he leant back against the half wall bordering the roof, taking a swig from his flask, letting the creamy pumpkin soup warm his gut. “Mind explaining whatcha got in that box there?”

Apparently the good doctor did mind, humming and hawing as he shifted it from one arm to another like it wasn’t the size of fucking O’Connor. “Biological waste to be disposed of, used needles and such. Nothing that would interest Priwen, I’m sure.” Of course, the crate took this very moment to hiss and shake, as if there were some quite angry waterfowl trapped inside. 

Crossing his arms and swallowing a laugh at the sheepish look on Reid’s face, Geoffrey couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Uh huh. You know, there are easier ways of wooing a man.”

To his absolute delight, Reid actually began to stammer and he was sure that if the leech could, he would be blushing bright red. “I don’t- I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grinning impishly because what better way to get Reid back for all the fucking birds he had left around the base, Geoffrey decided to keep poking with a sarcastic “Course you don’t.” Honestly, Geoffrey wasn’t exactly displeased to discover that his mysterious beau was the good Dr. Reid. Sure, he was a rat eating leech but they had parted on better terms after the cure for the Blood of Hate. Maybe that was why his mouth decided to run away from him, offering out a “Heard some talk about sewer beast activity round the warehouses near the docks. I’ll be taking a walk that way tomorrow night if you wanted to join me.”

Reid’s smile was slow and almost boyishly shy, like the sun peeking out from between rain clouds. “I would like that.”

Suddenly unsure of where to go from here, now that he had somehow suggested what was definitely not a date, Geoffrey grasped around for a new topic that did not involve emotions before landing on the crate in Reid’s arms. “So, whatcha planning on doing with those now? Babic isn’t exactly in the market for new fletchings.”

Reid looked down awkwardly at the crate as if suddenly remembering that he was carrying it, probably imaging the unwitting destruction he could create if he unleashed this ungodly hoard on unsuspecting mortals. “I should probably return them to Hyde Park.” The wood groaned at his words, as if unable to contain the fury of six bundled up geese that had been chased down by an ekon with a burlap sack. “Or another park. A much, much closer park.”

Eyeing the now creaking box, Geoffrey hummed to himself as an idea slowly began to form. A very merry idea indeed. Well, merry for him anyway. “Don’t suppose we could swing by Ascalon’s little club first?” 


End file.
